If I smile and don't Believe
by FunnyFloyd
Summary: Food wasn't the problem, not in the slightest... He had come to that conclusion years ago. Him eating the food was, though.


**Burton/Depp Cavalcade!!**

**Chapter two: If I smile and don't believe(Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)**

It wasn't because he didn't like food in general. He didn't feel disgusted by the fact that people simply _has_ to add some kind of energy to live, to survive. Everybody knew that. Everybody has that need, that primitive, instinctive urge. It wasn't unusual. Food wasn't the problem, not in the slightest... He had come to that conclusion years ago.

_Him_ _eating_ the food was, though.

Yes, he had to admit it; as embarrassing, degrading and somewhat impossible it sounded, he, William Wonka, the great chocolatier, the Ruler of chocolate, the fucking _King_ of candy-persuasion, had a problem. _Was_ a problem.

He could feel it, again; that slowly creeping, burning hunger, coming from someplace deep within, a place he'd tried time after time to ignore, but, in the end, failed in the attempt to accomplish. He knew what he had to do to stop it. At least temporarily. A disgusted ''_Ew'' _made it's way past his skinny pink lips.

~*~

He didn't try to keep the awkward noises coming from his throat down; the Oompa-Loompas we too far away to hear him, and besides them, he was alone. It didn't bother him, really; it was quite calming, to be honest, hearing the sounds of success. Of triumph after you've sinned. Like a bath that washed away all of your guilt and left you new, clean and breathing again.

He'd gotten used to the disgustingly thick, yellowish fluid that was forced it's way out of his system through his mouth; after a couple of months it had stopped his urge to vomit some more by the sight of it.

But was that a good thing, in the first place?

After manically trying to catch his breath, Willy once again straightened himself on his knees and forced his gloved finger as deep down in his throat as it would allow. He gagged.

_! _

And gagged once more before the all too familiar feeling rushed through his stomach, up his chest and past his lips, splashing out in the sink and his whole body contracted as the last pools of semi-digested food ended in the sink with the rest, out, away and soon forgotten.

For a time.

~*~

Because he had to _eat_, you know. He had to keep his body working, had to keep this whole, gigantic, fantastic _ideal_ of surviving going. If he stopped satisfying his hunger, stopped doing anything but throwing up, things could end up pretty bad. He would leave his factory, his live, his dream incomplete.

And if there was anything Willy Wonka simply couldn't take it would be disorder.

So, eventually, he would eat. It wasn't extreme or in large amounts of food, either; he could control himself. Just because he was hungry (_havetoeathavetoeathavetoeat) _didn't mean he had to be all bestial about it. He was a man of style, which meant that this time, he would hold it in.

But for how long? This _thing_, this game had been going on for so long now, and yes, he had managed to get through it, without anyone noticing it.

_Well, you haven't exactly been outside these past 15 years have you?_

But the clock was ticking. And he couldn't catch up with it. He could feel it... His little problem had been taxing on his body and health, psychical as well as psychological. He was getting older.

And, eventually, not tomorrow, not the day after tomorrow, but _eventually_, he would give in and the problem would not just be a problem anymore.

Willy could feel his breath hitch in his throat, his breathing becoming heavy and frantic. He could feel his eyes burn with an incredible force and with a cry, no, a _whine _of frustration he hid his face in his crossed arms and sobbed maniacally. It was always like this. Always the same routine; he would force down the food, gag, yes, but hold it in. That was the easiest part. Because afterward came the sickness. The Guilt. The self-loathing.

And finally, the tears.

How, _how_, could he be so un_selfish _and just gobble down food without taking the consequences of his actions into consideration? Had he no _idea_ what all those calories would _do _to him? Only a sick person would allow that kind of maltreat to his body.

~*~

Yes, Willy Wonka had a problem. And not of the small ones, mind you. Because this wasn't just for a longer period. This wasn't just one of those you can get help for and then leave it behind you with some will-power.

This was his life.

Every day, every month, every single _breath_ he took depended on this. Should he succumb? Should he not?

That was his life.

That was his routine.

And he would never be able to grab hold of it.

**A/U:**

**okay, so this was the second part of my _Burton/Depp Cavalcade. _One day I was watching _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ and I though: 'Hey... hey wait a sec.... How the devil does Wonka manage to be so THIN, practically _living_ in Chocolate??!'' And then I got the idea, the horrible, scarring idea that he might be suffering from '_Bulimia Nervosa_' (ravenous hunger followed by vomiting). And I figured that I would share my disgusting, disturbing thoughts with the human race. I surely don't hope I've offended anyone in anyway by writing this!**

**Oh and: Willy Wonka is NOT mine (trust me, if he was I would've made him walk about half naked in the movie...) nor is the eating disorder (...dude...), which means that I really don't own anything except from my imagination... Poor me.**


End file.
